Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 7

We started at the Box, which was closed at the moment—double doors of metal lying flat on the ground, covered in white paint, faded and cracked.

The day had brightened considerably, the shadows stretching in the opposite direction from what I had seen yesterday. I still hadn't spotted the sun, but it looked like it was about to pop over the eastern wall at any minute.

Alby pointed down at the doors. "This here's the Box. Once a month, we get a Newbie like you and Thomas, never fails. Usually theres only one Newbie. Once a week, we get supplies, clothes, some food. Ain't needin' a lot—pretty much run ourselves in the Glade."

I nodded, my whole body itching with the desire to ask questions.

I need some tape to put over my mouth.

"We don't know jack about the Box, you get me?" Alby continued. "Where it came from, how it gets here, who's in charge. The shanks that sent us here ain't told us nothin'. We got all the electricity we need, grow and raise most of our food, get clothes and such. Tried to send a slinthead Greenie back in the Box one time—thing wouldn't move till we took him out."

I wondered what lay under the doors when the Box wasn't there, but I held my tongue. I felt such a mixture of emotions—curiosity, frustration, wonder—all laced with the lingering horror of seeing the Griever that morning.

Alby kept talking, never bothering to look me in the eye. "Glade's cut into four sections." He held up his fingers as he counted off the next four words. "Gardens, Blood House, Homestead, Deadheads. You got that?"

I hesitated, then shook my head, confused.

Alby's eyelids fluttered briefly as he continued; he looked like he could think of a thousand things he'd rather be doing right then. He pointed to the northeast corner, where the fields and fruit trees were located. "Gardens—where we grow the crops. Water's pumped in through pipes in the ground—always has been, or we'd have starved to death a long time ago. Never rains here. Never." He pointed to the southeast corner, at the animal pens and barn. "Blood House—where we raise and slaughter animals." He pointed at the pitiful living quarters. "Homestead—stupid place is twice as big than when the first of us got here because we keep addin' to it when they send us wood and klunk. Ain't pretty, but it works. Most of us sleep outside anyway."

I felt dizzy. So many questions splintered my mind I couldn't keep straight.

Alby pointed to the southwest corner, the forest area fronted with several sickly trees and benches. "Call that the Deadheads. Graveyard's back in that corner, in the thicker woods. Ain't much else. You can go there to sit and rest, hang out, whatever." He cleared his throat, as if wanting to change subjects. "You'll spend the next two weeks working one day a piece for our different job Keepers—until we know what you're best at. Slopper, Bricknick, Bagger, Track-hoe—somethin'll stick, always does. Come on."

Alby walked toward the South Door, located between what he'd called the Deadheads and the Blood House.
I followed, wrinkling my nose up at the sudden smell of dirt and manure coming from the animal pens.

Graveyard? I thought. Why do they need a graveyard in a place full of teenagers? That disturbed me even more than not knowing some of the words Alby kept saying—words like Slopper and Bagger—that didn't sound so good. I came as close to interrupting Alby as I'd done so far, but willed my mouth shut. Frustrated, I turned my attention to the pens in the Blood House area.

Several cows nibbled and chewed at a trough full of greenish hay. Pigs lounged in a muddy pit, an occasionally flickering tail the only sign they were alive. Another pen held sheep, and there were chicken coops and turkey cages as well. Workers bustled about the area, looking as if they'd spent their whole lives on a farm.